


Learn Me Right

by lossie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And I still love it, Angst, Complete AU, Everything is more complicated than it looks, F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, This story is cray-cray, a bit of romance, i don't even know what i'm doing anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lossie/pseuds/lossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After all, she is just a lowly Silvan elf. In the grand scheme of things, her existence doesn't matter." Complete AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn Me Right

**Author's Note:**

> Is it Lossie popping out like a freaking daisy with yet another chapter fic? Yes, it is! ;D  
> I got this idea for an AU where Tauriel gets to interact with little Legolas after I watched “Bambi 2” for the nth time with my cousin last weekend. The crazy amount of lovely sketches featuring Thranduil with little Legolas didn’t help much either. So here is my take on Legolas’ childhood that has little to do with how it probably looked in canon (if Tolkien ever gave it some thought at all), with lots of Tauriel (who is probably much older than PJ intended her to be, but sue me, I do what I want!), and a truly alarming amount of fluff.   
> Trust me, this is the type of story that will make you wonder if you aren’t actually going bonkers while you continue to simultaneously laugh and cry. At least that’s what’s happening to me as I write it ;)   
> In the end, I think I’m basically doing this more for fun than anything else.  
> Anyway, I came up with enough plot to write three stories in total, so “Lear Me Right” will have two sequels. The chapters will be shorter than in my other fics, because I think it simply suits the story better and it’s definitely way easier to write.  
> Enjoy the madness and please, don’t forget to leave a comment/review!

“ _Why does winter_  
_Always make you wait_  
 _For a glimpse of sun?_  
 _Takes a simple clue_  
 _Or leap of faith_  
 _To know the time will come_  
 _When long, cold nights_  
 _Fade into memory_  
 _Looking at the morning light_  
 _And we will be together_  
 _Leaving our cares behind forever_  
 _At the first sign of spring_ ”  
-Michelle Lewis, “First Sign of Spring”

* * *

  
Tauriel comes to the royal gardens almost every morning.  
  
It’s her place of solitude, of salvation, and she treats it as a sanctuary of sorts. Over the last decade she has been living in the King’s Halls, it has become a ritual she follows rigorously on those days when her thoughts keep her from falling asleep once more after waking up from another horrific nightmare. Her troubled dreams aren’t just a product of her imagination, so telling herself that it was only a trick of mind doesn’t work. Memories are hard to run away from, especially when they are filled with blood and death, and screams of anguish. The repetitive nature of weeding out the flowerbeds, watering the plants, cutting off dried branches and steams, and doing other such things, makes it easier to forget about the fact that she is all alone now, even if only for a brief moment of self-indulgent oblivion.  
  
This morning she once again played witness to the brutal slaughter of her family. It’s harder for her to calm down and harder still to stop crying, but she somehow manages to do both in due time. Still, the image of her father’s head rolling and rolling, and rolling down the backyard of her childhood home until it rests beside her legs refuses to leave her alone, as does the contrast between the crimson blood and her mother’s snow-white skin. When she is quite sure that she won’t trip over her own feet, she stands up from the bed and dresses quickly in a simple cotton dress. She puts on her mother’s favourite woollen shawl over her shoulders with shaky hands, but as she starts to collect her gardening tools, her limbs are already a bit steadier.  
  
Walking down the unlit hallways on her way to the gardens, she tries to be quiet so as to not wake anyone. Dawn is only just approaching and the only other elves that are not asleep at this hour are the guards on duty. The two she passes by give her what she imagines to be quite inquisitive looks, but they don’t offer any comments or advise her to return to her quarters. She suspects that they might even been the ones who saw her three days ago doing exactly the same thing, though it’s really hard to tell since they are wearing full body armour and their helmets conceal their faces perfectly.  
  
The gardens are located in the upper parts of the caverns on the ground level, so that sunlight can reach the plants within freely through enormous oculi, and then extend out into the open clearing that is warmed up by some kind of magic Tauriel hardly understands, but can easily appreciate. It is protected and hidden from view, so no one can enter or even see it from the forest. There is only one way in and one way out, which makes it into a true safe haven. Not many come to visit this place anymore and, by the order of the king, only the healers are permitted to tend to the plants that grow here.  
  
For a long few minutes she simply stands in the middle of a cobbled path a few steps away from the place where the cave meets the meadow of lush green grass, taking in the tranquillity of this place, as well as gulps of the fresh air of late spring with its lingering aroma of rain and blooming flowers. When the sun kisses the horizon, rays of gold licking at the nape of her exposed neck, she exhales slowly and finally begins to move again.  
  
During the next two hours she frees a patch of asters from the unwanted guests in form of some rather stubborn dandelions and thistles. The later try to put up a fight by repeatedly stinging her hands as she does her best to pull them out of the ground. Pain is a familiar discomfort to her, a constant companion she knows all too well, and so she continues weeding without reaching for the soft leather gloves that would offer some protection. She is already too used to suffering to even wince.  
  
The sun is peaking over the tree line, when she decides to go back to her quarters for a morning meal and a warm bath.  
  
As she moves past the oak tree, which grows in such a place that some of its branches seem to hold hands with the jutting stones of the outer walls of the King’s Halls, she hears something that makes her stop. Startled, she looks up and then the sound comes again, a bit louder this time. It reminds her of the cries of Narwa, a young cat that she has adopted a few weeks ago, when she gets stuck somewhere. It happens quite a lot, since the animal is apparently unable to resist the urge to climb up over things and yet absolutely cannot get back down due to a severe case of fear of heights. Since it has a bad habit of following her around wherever she goes, it is quite possible that it is actually her stupid cat meowing pitifully, because it got stuck on one of the higher branches.  
  
With a heavy sigh of exasperation, she sets down her things and, after hitching up the skirts of her dress and tying them into a tight knot, she begins to climb up. It is hard to see anything through the thick foliage, but she is determined. At one point she is ready to call after the cat, because she realizes that otherwise she will probably spend the next few hours jumping around like a squirrel. However her voice dies in her throat when something shifts to her left. She turns around and her gaze immediately lands on a pair of wide bright blue eyes.  
  
It’s not Narwa that’s hiding in the tree, but a child – a frightened little boy.  
  
Apart from the pair of eyes, which are an impossibly striking feature on their own, the child has golden hair that barely brushes against his small shoulders and seems to emit a glow of its own. His face is round and flushed, and adorned with a light dusting of freckles across his slightly upturned nose. She can see his arms wrapped around a branch, holding onto it for dear life, and realizes that he is probably more scared than she can even fathom.  
  
“Good morning,” she says quietly, her mouth curling into a soft smile. “What is your name?”  
  
“L-Legolas,” he whispers so quietly she is barely able to hear him at all, but at least he is somewhat responsive and it gives her a bit of hope that she won’t be spending the rest of the day coaxing a boy that is scarcely older than a toddler to get out of his hiding spot.  
  
“That’s a very pretty name.”  
  
“ _Nana_ gave it to me.”  
  
It comes as no surprise to Tauriel. In Elven culture it is always the mother who names the child. There are cases, of course, when it is not possible, due to the mother’s death or something of that ilk, but only then does the responsibility fall to the father. The reasons behind such a procedure are simple – it is the mother who carries the child for months, it is the mother who brings the child to this world, and it is the mother who dreams of what will come during the blessed time of pregnancy. All of those aspects are sacrum to the Elves.  
  
“Are you hiding here from your _nana_?”  
  
The boys shakes his head.  
  
“ _Nana_ is away,” he explains after a moment, his eyes glazing over and shining as one tear after another slide down the sides his face. “Galadel says that she will never come back…”  
  
“And your _ada_?”  
  
“He is ill… I can’t go to him. He doesn’t want me to see him…”  
  
Tauriel remembers in this very moments the sober moods of the Elves who had returned from the North one moon ago, their faces smudged with ash and dirt, and their steps heavy with grief. The queen fell three days prior to their return, Tauriel learns later on, burned alive in the raging flames of a dragon. There was nothing left of her. No body, no bones. Nothing to bury. Lady Narie, as well as two other healers, were rushed to the king’s chambers to assist him immediately, since he had been injured in battle while trying to save his wife. She doesn’t know what happened to him exactly, because nobody dares to talk about it, but she knows well that whenever a fire-drake is involved, there is little joy to be found.  
  
“The flesh will mend in time, as it usually does, my dear, but what of the soul?” Were the only words Lady Narie was willing to offer on the subject. Tauriel doesn’t even want to imagine what a horrific injury it must be to cause the old healer to become so grim.  
  
The halls are quiet for this very reason. Peoples of Mirkwood are waiting for any news of their beloved king, suspended as they are for now in the limbo of uncertainty. Tauriel has her own demons to worry about, her own personal scars and wounds to attend to daily, but she still finds a moment every day to send a prayer for the king’s recovery to the West. There is little faith left in her at this point and yet she finds herself thinking that it won’t hurt anyone if she trusts in the power of Eru and the Valars one last time.  
  
However it seems that in the aftermath of the tragedy everyone has forgotten that there is someone who has been hurt by the horrific events most of all. This person – this tiny little person – has no way of understanding why he cannot simply go to see his father or why his mother will never hold him again. The prince is too young to know those things, too young to comprehend them fully. For some reason or another, Tauriel never before thought about him in the context of this situation, but now that she did, she thinks it will be impossible to put aside.  
  
With determination she hasn’t felt in a few years, she climbs over to where Legolas is perched on a rather frail-looking branch. Surprisingly enough he doesn’t fight her at all as she embraces him gently and puts his arms around her neck. When he is tucked safely in her arms, she starts to move down carefully, mindful of every step she takes. She feels the heat of the boy’s face where it’s pressed against her shoulder and she has a hard time discerning which one of them is shaking more.  
  
Reaching the ground has never felt this good before, she decides with a sigh of relief as her feet finally land in the grass. Legolas is still holding her neck hostage and it doesn’t look like he is about to let go anytime soon, so she goes over to fetch her things and continues on the way home as if having an armful of a crying prince was something she did every single day before breakfast.  
  
“Why were you hiding in that tree?” She asks him, smoothing a hand over his back in what she hopes is a vaguely comforting gesture. Judging by the fact that the boy relaxes somewhat into her hold afterwards she wasn’t terribly mistaken, so she does it again and again as she waits patiently for his answer.  
  
“Galadel wants me to eat carrots,” Legolas finally confesses after a moment of silence in a slightly quivering voice. “I don’t like cooked carrots... They are icky.”  
  
Tauriel can sympathize with the feeling, since she is no enthusiast of carrots in any form or shape either. She supposes though that Lady Galadel, who is the prince’s nanny and also one of the healers, has a different perspective on the matter.  
  
“They are hardly the best of things,” she agrees with him. “What do you like to eat then?”  
  
To her surprise, there is no hesitation left in him as he tells her about his favourite foods. There is an apple pie with raisins, a type of sweet bread with dried cranberries, raspberry jam, tomatoes, and almost every kind of fruit in the world. She learns that he favours chicken over any other type of meat, and that he doesn’t really like eating soups, but at the same time likes oatmeal just fine. Soon enough they are both immersed in a rather heated discussion about their favourite flavours of tea, which probably explains why Tauriel doesn’t really notice the startled looks the kitchen staff sends her way when she walks through the back door of the royal kitchens. Legolas, who is waving his hands around like there is no tomorrow and erupting into contagious fits of giggles every now and again, doesn’t seem to pay much attention to them as well.  
  
Nobody says anything to her though, no matter how much they stare.  
  
Legolas swings his legs over the edge of the table and continues to talk about random things while she makes him a simple bowl of oatmeal with dried fruits, which he eats rather eagerly. Of course he somehow manages to make a complete mess of himself in the process. She doesn’t even know how is it possible to get a glob of oatmeal onto your forehead without trying, but apparently she simply isn’t as creative in her ways as Legolas. After she cleans his sticky hands and face, she helps him sip at a small cup of camomile tea sweetened with honey. The entire meal isn’t much, she knows, but the prince doesn’t really care. At any rate, it’s probably still much better than cooked carrots he has such a powerful aversion to, so she doesn’t question it.  
  
Just then Lady Galadel storms into the kitchens in a fit of hysterics, lamenting loudly about the fact that she cannot find the young prince anywhere and how the king is surely going to cut her in half with his sword when he finds out about it. Some of the staff members immediately hurry to her side to offer well-meant words of comfort while she continues to cry. Tauriel thinks it’s ridiculous, but doesn’t think it’s her place to comment. She has never liked Lady Galadel to begin with, since the _elleth_ has a tendency to look down upon everyone just because she is Sindar, and the feeling is most certainly mutual. It is hard to tell why she feels that she is so much better than others, especially considering the fact that she apparently cannot even do her job properly.  
  
A light pat on the arm makes her turn back to Legolas, who is still sitting on the table. The expression on his face is now a peculiar mix of curiosity and terror.  
  
“Is _ada_ really going to hurt her?” He asks in a way that strongly suggests the possibility of such an occurrence is more than a little bit horrifying. As a result, Tauriel has a sudden urge to walk over to the whaling lady just so she can explain to her in no uncertain terms why proclaiming that someone is going to kill you in a public place isn’t the wisest of ideas.  
  
“No, of course not,” she answers instead, smoothing a hand over his hair with a smile. “She is just being silly.”  
  
The boy seems to ponder it for a moment or two before nodding slowly, as if wholeheartedly agreeing that it’s actually very likely. It is almost impossible to withhold a laugh or at least a small smirk, but she somehow manages to do so.  
  
In the end someone notices that the supposedly lost prince is not exactly lost. Instead of being relieved or even remotely happy, Lady Galadel appears to be on the verge of exploding from suppressed anger. Her face turns an interesting shade of purple as she simply drags Legolas out of the kitchens with a promise of “a serious conversation about proper behaviour”, which makes Tauriel feel very sorry for the child, who is not really the one to blame in this entire ordeal.  
  
All the same, she simply shrugs it off and continues on with her day as if nothing happened.  
  
Either way people treat her in the exact same manner – as if she was made of air and thus completely invisible. There is no change to be seen whatsoever.  
  
And if Lady Galadel glares at her a bit more viciously than usual during the evening meal or if someone glances in her direction for longer than a few seconds, Tauriel doesn’t really care.  
  
It will pass quickly enough, she knows, as all things do.  
  
After all, she is just a lowly Silvan elf. In the grand scheme of things, her existence doesn’t matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, Thranduil will appear in this story, but a bit later. I want to establish the relationship between Tauriel and little Legolas first before making things a bit more complicated ;)
> 
> For those who are wondering why I’m not updating my on-going stories: I’m taking a bit of a break from my chapter fics to write all the lovely Thranduil/Tauriel requests that I’ve got. I have six marvellous one-shots to write, guys. I need some time to do them justice! ;)  
> Also I’m currently ill (yes, again!), so please indulge me in whatever I do to make myself feel better and be patient :)


End file.
